


Holly vs Oak: The Rematch

by zjofierose



Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Mistletoe, Pagan Festivals, Paganism, Winter Solstice, Yule, Yuletide, implied alive hales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Derek is a stage combat instructor who agrees to choreograph a ritual battle so his sister can get some. He's generous like that, what can he say. Unfortunately, he's not prepared for how attractive one of the fighters he's meant to be instructing is...
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531490
Comments: 14
Kudos: 189
Collections: 12 Days of Sterek





	Holly vs Oak: The Rematch

**Author's Note:**

> I... yeah, I got nothing. Happy Yule, everyone!

“You owe me.”

“What?” Derek rubs a hand over his eyes and looks up from the pile of ungraded final papers at the scowling face of his younger sister. “What do I owe you for now?”

Cora smiles angelically at him over her folded arms. “When I was eight years old, you took me to a movie a week so that you could ‘bump into’ your girlfriend the band nerd and make out in the back row, and I sat alone in the front row and never told Mom.”

Derek thinks about it. He remembers the summer in question - he’d been fifteen, and made it to third base before August was out. He sets down his pen and looks over the rim of his glasses.

“What do you want?”

“I need you to choreograph a fight.” 

Derek shrugs. That’s literally part of his job as stage combat instructor in the Theater department at Beacon Hills Community College. It should be no big deal.

“Okay. For whom, and by when?”

“Um,” Cora waves a hand vaguely, “it’s for a couple of other sophomores. There’s a ritual being put on by the BHCC Pagan Alliance for the winter solstice, and it has a ceremonial fight in it.”

“Cora,” Derek bites his lip and summons his sternest expression, “I know that, in nineteen years of life, this may somehow have escaped your notice, but… we’re Catholic.”

Cora rolls her eyes so hard Derek would worry she’s going to break something if she didn’t do this at least twice per conversation. “Yes. We are. But,” she grins, “ _ Lydia’s _ not.”

“Lydia Martin? Student body president? ‘I’m-teaching-half-the-classes-I’m-taking’ Lydia Martin?”

“Yeah,” Cora sighs dreamily, and Derek has to muffle a snicker into a cough. “I saw her rehearsing the ritual, and might have mentioned that I could get her a better choreographer.”

“You’re farming me out so you can get into Lydia Martin’s pants?” Derek clutches at his chest. “Cora, how could you.”

“Damn straight I am,” she grins, and pokes a finger into his chest before she spins and heads for the door, “so you better do a fucking  _ fantastic _ job!”

\---

_ A choreographed battle between two sophomores that lasts two and a half minutes and ends in certain defeat for one and certain victory for the other, _ Derek thinks as he walks into the BHCC gym a week later,  _ how hard can it be? _

Two hours later, Derek rues the moment such a thought ever crossed his mind. “Okay everyone, let’s take five,” he calls, and walks out the side door to slump down on the pavement and rub soothingly at his temples. He thinks of Cora and grimaces. If it were up to him, he’d have walked out an hour and forty minutes ago, but he promised, and what’s worse, she’s here too, hanging off Lydia’s every word in her self-appointed role as ‘production assistant.’

The fact is that the production is a mess. While it sounds good on paper, the actuality of the performance is falling apart left and right: half the actors don’t know their lines, and the ones who do have clearly never acted a day in their lives; the prop sticks that the two ‘fighters’ are meant to be using keep breaking; the drummer hasn’t even bothered to show up to rehearsal; and worst of all, at least in Derek’s mind, is the undeniable fact that one of the actors he’s supposed to be training is  _ beautiful _ .

Derek buries his face in his hands and groans.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was  _ that _ bad,” says a voice beside him. The voice is honey-rich and amused, and Derek recognizes it immediately. 

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. Maybe if Derek doesn’t  _ look _ at the stupidly pretty boy, he’ll forget how attractive he is.

“Well,” the guy -  _ Stiles _ , Derek reminds himself, his name is Stiles - says, thoughtfully, “I’m sure the bruises I’ll have tomorrow will agree with you more than I do. But we’re already in better shape than we were last year.”

Derek lifts his head to stare incredulously. It’s a mistake, because Stiles is possibly even prettier out here in the late afternoon sunlight, his cheeks pinked by cold and amber eyes sparkling. Still, Derek can’t help himself. “It was  _ worse _ last year?”

Stiles throws his head back and laughs, and Derek suddenly can’t swallow. 

“God, yeah,” he says, eyes dancing. “Erica forgot the words to half of her monologue and Isaac dropped the Yule log and it broke in half right in the middle of the room. And then Scott tripped over his cape and somehow managed to both nearly strangle in it and also simultaneously pants himself in front of the entire audience.”

Derek snorts. He’s spent the last two hours watching Scott flail at Stiles with a foot-long stick. He can picture it. 

“What’d you do?” he asks, because he can’t not.

Stiles ducks his head in embarrassment, rubbing a hand over his closely buzzed brown hair. It’s incredibly endearing. “I, uh, I had a really intense final that morning, and I’d pulled an all-nighter the night before, and so I… slept through it.”

“Oops,” Derek says, and grins as Stiles nods emphatically. 

“I’m still surprised Lydia didn’t murder me outright,” Stiles whispers to him conspiratorially, “I kind of think she’s just waiting until I’ve forgotten, and then,” he makes a sharp hand gesture across his throat, “lights out, Stiles.”

“Are you two done out here?” a sharp voice interjects, and Derek jumps nearly a foot. “Some of us would like to wrap this up.”

“Yes,” Derek says, scrambling awkwardly to his feet, “yes, sorry, just getting some fresh air.”

“Sure,” Lydia says, folding her arms and staring at them both. Stiles squirms visibly, but Derek refuses to give her the satisfaction. Lydia is terrifying, but Derek grew up in a house full of terrifying women and his poker face is second to none. “If you don’t mind then?”

Stiles bows and opens the door. “After you,” he says, and waves them both through.

\--

The production improves… gradually, Derek decides. If they had until May to work n it, it might actually get to be respectable. But in fact they have - Derek checks his calendar app - four more days until the solstice. 

He sighs. “Scott, I’ve told you - you’re moving too fast. I know you think fighting is supposed to be high speed, but that’s movie acting, not stage acting. You need to move slow enough that people can easily see what’s happening.”

Scott grimaces, and Derek can see him making sad puppy eyes at the brunette across the room. Allison, he thinks it is. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, turning away from Scott, because if he has to try and hold Scott’s attention away from Allison one more time today he’s going to shove Scott’s ceremonial oak wand up his nose. “The drama you’re bringing to the role is excellent - you’re telegraphing your moves well, and your expressions are big and readable, but you keep changing the moves, and it means that Scott doesn’t know what to do next.” Derek stares at the man in front of him and wills himself to be strong. “Is there something I can do to help?”

Stiles blinks at him innocently. “I just… feel like I might need some personal assistance with learning the moves.”

“Um.” Derek stares. Is he… is he being flirted with? There’s no other way to interpret that, right? 

“Yeah,” Scott pipes up, sensing an opportunity, Derek’s sure. “I think you should go over Stiles’ moves with him. In detail. He really needs the hands-on approach.” He grins at Stiles, and they high-five. 

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Scott, you have two minutes, you hear me?  _ Two _ . Then we’re going over this again from the top.”

The wattage of Scott’s beaming grin could power a small city, Derek thinks. He watches briefly as Scott runs across the room to Allison, then turns to regard Stiles, who’s got his own shit-eating grin plastered in place. There’s an undercurrent of forced confidence, though, which is what finally convinces Derek that this is really happening.

He folds his arms. “So,” he begins, and there’s a flicker of real anxiety in Stiles’ eyes. Derek’s heart thumps in response. “Hands-on coaching, huh?”

“I really think it would improve my performance,” Stiles chirps earnestly, his brown eyes wide. “I really feel like you have the professional touch.”

Derek is going to die. No, first Derek is going to murder Cora. Then send her a fruit basket. Then die. 

“How about this,” Derek says, giving Stiles his best possible Teacher Stare. “If I agree to give you some... personal attention, say, after rehearsal. Maybe over a beer at The White Owl?” He pauses, hoping he hasn’t pushed too far, but Stiles is nodding frantically along, his face glowing with delight. “Will you give me your best performance for the hour of rehearsal we have left?”

Stiles holds out a hand, and Derek takes it, finally allowing his smile to run free across his face. Stiles’ hand is warm and rough, wiry and narrower than Derek’s own, and Derek has to force himself to let it go.

“You’ve got a deal,” Stiles breathes, and lets Derek go in order to pick up his holly wand with new vigor. “Scott! Get over here, we’ve got to  _ practice _ !”

\--

In the end, the ritual is deemed a resounding success by all. Allison sings a rather nice song; Lydia performs the monologues, not trusting anyone else to deliver them (which,  _ fair _ , Derek thinks) and does so with aplomb; Isaac and Erica are convincing in a living tableau of Freyr and Freya, complete with Erica’s very over-it pet cat; and Scott’s Oak King goes on to triumphantly and mostly convincingly defeat Stiles’ Holly King, thus turning the wheel of the year and welcoming back the light to the world.

Last but not least, Derek catches Cora coming out of the prop room before the show with lipstick in Lydia’s preferred shade of red smeared around her mouth, so it seems that the ultimate goal was accomplished.

Not that Derek cares, at this point, if he’s honest; he’s too busy watching Stiles, who was very obviously holding out on him, steal the show. He scampers, he feints, he roars his outrage, and he dies endlessly, skewered with a stake of oak through the heart. 

He catches Derek as the final song is being sung, sidling up next to Derek where he’s leaning in a doorway near the back. 

“Hey,” Stiles says under his breath, “I have to get back in a sec for final bows, but I just wanted to say thanks.” He sets a hand on Derek’s arm, and Derek nearly forgets to breathe with how lovely he is, smile broad, cheeks flushed from fighting and twinkling Yule lights reflecting in his eyes. “We really couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Happy to,” Derek says, and isn’t even surprised to find he means it. He smiles back, catching at Stiles’ sleeve as he starts to go. “Wait, you’re forgetting something.”

Stiles blinks at him in confusion, and Derek lets himself grin. He’d picked this doorway for a reason, and he sees the recognition flood Stiles’ face as Derek points up to the ball of mistletoe hanging above his own head. 

He barely has time to brace himself before Stiles is leaping into his arms, kissing him with all the passion Derek’s seen him apply to everything he takes on. Derek gathers the presence of mind to wrap his arms around Stiles, kissing him back with all he’s got. 

The song ends and someone gasps, and then there’s a round of applause surging around them, and Derek can feel the embarrassment begin to flood his face, but Stiles is still kissing him and damned if Derek is going to discourage that. He hears Cora whistle sharply, and knows he’s never going to live this down, but all he can think as he cups his hands around Stiles’ face is  _ worth it _ .


End file.
